


in other words

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bridget Jones's Diary AU, Humor, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, it's where you steal the entire plot of bridget jones's diary, what's a bridget jones's diary au?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-22 19:00:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14315100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “Perhaps you should get his number all the same,” Newt overhears, and quickly identifies the voice as Lars Gottlieb’s as he rounds the corner to quietly pick at the food on the table. “You did use to like him.”“In his written form,” he huffs. “You’ve never taken interest in my relations before,” Hermann adds with a certain disdain. “Besides, I do not need to be ‘set-up’,” he can practically hear the quotation marks, “with some wannabe-rock-star wunderkind who speaks too much about too little.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> boy.. i wrote this for a joke but it's nearly 15k so i'm going to post it anyway. (it's not actually written as a joke like it's very much written properly it's just. the concept asdfgh). it's done i'm just gonna stagger posting it
> 
> anyway. lmk any mistakes etc
> 
> this is very literally just the plot of bridget jones's diary. don't expect any more. some of the lines are directly the same. please read

Newt rings in the new year with cheer and good company, which is to say he’s drunk on his couch from several bottles of wine (Christmas gifts from his friends) while binging a boxset of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (a Hanukkah gift from his family). He fades in and out of consciousness for a long while, and then suddenly he is thrown into 8AM on January 1st by his phone blaring from somewhere within the couch.

He rolls off the cushions, shoving off the makeshift blanket of a coat, three shirts and a pair of jeans as he rummages for his phone. Once he finds it, he sits on the floor with his back against the sofa, bringing it to his ear without needing to check who it is.

“Hi mom,” he says as he answers the call, wincing as she immediately launches into her usual spiel, tinny through his phone speakers. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine, just getting a cold I think,” he replies to her fuss at the hoarseness of his voice.

Newt’s mind briefly flashes to the copious number of cigarettes he’d smoked the night before on the roof with Tendo before he had gone back home to Allison.

He coughs to try and clear the scratchiness. “Of course. Don’t worry. I’ll be there.” He hangs up, feeling a little guilty for ending the call so soon.

Resting the back of his head against the sofa, he closes his eyes and tries to will his headache away, but it seems rather stubborn – much like its host – and Newt knows that it probably won’t abate without at least five more hours of unconsciousness. Unfortunately, those five hours of sleep will remain a distant dream, as he has regrettably agreed to go to his family’s annual New Year’s Day buffet out of the city. A gruelling car ride and appalling traffic lies ahead.

The olive in the piss martini that will be his day is that every year without fail his mother has tried to set him up with some pretentious asshole with enough money for her to overlook their overwhelming lack of personality.

He blunders up with a groan and stumbles to his table, taking a bite of a chip from a packet that he knows has been open all night, and winces at its staleness. Newt heads to his refrigerator to find that its contents consist of a block of mouldy cheese, three bottles of beer and a half-finished pot of guacamole. He takes out the guacamole to smear on the chips as some substitute of breakfast. It’s hardly likely to stay down anyway, he thinks.

 _New Year’s resolution_ , he thinks as he punishes himself with his disgusting food, _do better_.

*

Despite his headache, with the help of more aspirin than is healthy (he has a biology PhD, he reasons as if it means something), Newt still manages to blast music in his car enough to get lost as his attention flitters between too many things and he misses his turning off the highway. By the time he gets to his parents’ house, the journey has taken about two hours longer than it should, although that was in part his purposely trying to limit the amount of time he’d spend there.

The door is opened before he even knocks, and he is quickly embraced by his mom in the doorway.

“Where have you been?” Monica says as she drags him inside. Some airbrushed Bossa Nova-style music is playing, and Newt blanches at the concept of even _calling_ it music. He supposes that hypocritical though, as many of his friends have said the same thing about his music taste.

“I got lost,” he tells her, because it’s mostly the truth, as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the bottom of the railing on the staircase.

She tuts at his crumpled shirt. “I thought we raised you better, Newton,” she says, and Newt resists the urge to bite back that _she didn’t raise him_ , seeing as that fell to his father and uncle until she breezed back into their life when he was seventeen and already working on a second doctorate. “Borrow one of your father’s,” she commands.

Newt trudges up the stairs to do so, finding one on a hanger hooked over his old bedroom’s door, as if Monica had predicted this. She probably did.

The shirt’s a little too big on him, and it’s a blue he doesn’t really like. He rolls the sleeves up in an attempt to look a little less like his father in it and heads back downstairs in attempt to join the people there, before Monica is suddenly at his side again and pulls him away from entering for a moment. She places a glass of wine in his hand.

“Lars Gottlieb is here,” tells him.

 _That_ catches his interest. “Lars Gottlieb? The engineer?” he questions. “How do you know Lars Gottlieb?”

She waves him off. “Never mind that. Your father told me you used to write to his son.”

Newt feels the blood drain from his face. “When I was like, sixteen!” he says.

“ _And_ ,” she continues as if she hasn’t heard, “he’s brought that very son.”

“Mom-”

“Come on, Newton. He’s very clever. He’s one of those researchers at MIT,” Monica tells him.

Newt frowns briefly. He hadn’t known Hermann had been working in the US, let alone at Newt’s old place of work. He wishes he’d picked their contact back up after the rather unfortunate breakdown he had when he was 22, or had at least asked for Hermann’s email before he’d apparently changed address.

Still, he can’t say that he particularly knows Hermann now at all, seeing as both of them are well into their thirties.

“Well-off. _Divorced_ ,” she says pointedly.

“ _Mom_ ,” he stresses.

His reluctance is either completely unapparent to her, or she rather purposely elects to ignore it as she places a hand on the small of his back and leads him into the room. It’s crowded with his family and their friends; most people he recognises but put in front of wouldn’t remember a single thing about.

Hermann – Newt assumes, because who else could it be – is tall, a cane in one hand, and currently examining his parents’ bookshelf as if he were trying to find a secret door handle. Despite the almost-sneer on his face as he scans the distinct lack of either good literature or interesting texts, he is, in Newt’s opinion, a quite attractive guy, in a curmudgeonly English professor kind of way. He’s beginning to think maybe this time his mom’s made the right decision, however humiliating being set up usually is, that maybe it’s meant to be, meeting after all these years, that maybe-

Hermann turns, revealing a hand-knit reindeer sweater and a sour look on his face.

Or not.

“You remember Newton?” his mom introduces. “He used to write you fanmail.”

Newt closes his eyes in a wince.

“Yes,” Hermann says shortly. He almost expects him to say more, but nothing comes. 

“Newt works in journalism,” Monica says, before drifting off like her work is done with a pat on Newt’s back with enough force to make him stumble forward. He laughs awkwardly as he’s suddenly slightly closer to Hermann.

“So. Journalism?” Hermann asks, a little stilted. “What happened to your research?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Needed a change of scenery, I guess. Everything got a bit ‘argh!’” he articulates, flaring his hands. Hermann leans away from it. “You know?”

“I can’t say that I do,” he replies.

“You staying with family?” Newt feels awkward, and catches the sympathetic eye contact of his father over Hermann’s shoulder.

“Other way around, unfortunately. You?”

“No,” he answers distractedly before he quickly averts his eyes from his father to look at Hermann again. “No,” he repeats. “Sorry, I had a lot to drink last night. I’d rather be in bed like any normal person.”

Hermann’s face is inscrutable.

“New Year’s resolution. Stop drinking,” he tells him, laughing uneasily. He watches Hermann raise an eyebrow as he looks at the glass of wine in his hand. “Also, keep New Year’s resolutions. And stop talking nonsense to people I’ve just met,” he lets out a shaky breath. “Nice sweater.”

Hermann looks down and makes a face like he’s forgotten what he was wearing and the reminder brings forth feelings of disgust. “Perhaps it’s time to eat.”

He swiftly leaves, heading to the buffet table – which is just the Geiszler’s kitchen table covered in a white sheet and several plates of food-like substances – and leaving Newt standing self-consciously next to the bookshelf. Newt runs his finger along the shelf, inspecting the dust, in an effort to look like he isn’t immediately following Hermann to the table as he follows his stomach’s desire for cocktail sausages.

“Perhaps you should get his number all the same,” Newt overhears, and quickly identifies the voice as Lars Gottlieb’s as he rounds the corner to quietly pick at the food on the table. “You did use to like him.”

“In his written form,” he huffs. “You’ve never taken interest in my relations before,” Hermann adds with a certain disdain. “Besides, I do not need to be ‘set-up’,” he can practically hear the quotation marks, “with some wannabe-rock-star wunderkind who speaks too much about too little.”

That hurts, Newt finds, flinching as he fills a paper plate up with various things. Hermann takes that moment to look at him with an expression like he’s not sure if he heard him, and Newt plasters a fake grin onto his face as he takes a handful of chips.

“Mm. Hot dog flavoured chips. My favourite.” They’re not.

*

“Fuck him,” Tendo tells him the following evening.

The hustle of the restaurant (if it could be called that) has the potential to be overwhelming, but Newt’s never been particularly good with peace and quiet. Tendo sits opposite him, the other two sides of the circular table – slightly too small for the number of beer bottles and various other glasses that are on it – are occupied by Mako and Raleigh.

“No, no, listen,” Tendo stresses, as if Newt wasn’t, “if he didn’t like you, fuck him. Who cares?”

“Me,” Newt replies with a frown. “That’s why we’re talking about it.”

“What Tendo’s saying,” Mako says, “is that if someone you liked a few years ago when you hadn’t even met doesn’t like you now, it’s not the end of the world. You’re both different people.”

Tendo points, nodding.

“Besides, it just means you’re too good for him,” she adds with a wry smile and a hand on his shoulder.

“How’s Chuck?” Raleigh throws in to cause a stir, leaning back in his seat and bringing his bottle to his mouth as he grins.

Chuck Hansen. Dissolute, egotistic, and professional asshole when he’s not being Newt’s boss at the small-time science paper he writes for. Neither particularly smart nor a particularly good editor, Newt’s fairly sure his route into the job was largely nepotistic, Herc Hansen being the CFO of the publishing company that owns the paper. And still absolutely, unequivocally, hot.

“How isn’t Chuck?” Newt responds before realising that makes no sense whatsoever. “He’s an asshole. A hot asshole.”

Mako wrinkles her nose at the descriptor.

“I think you just need to relieve some tension, Newt,” Raleigh says with obvious implications. “Get over Hermann.”

“Get over him? I met him yesterday.”

He snorts. “Yeah, but those letters? That’s pretty romantic, man.”

“Romantic?” he practically squeaks. “They were purely academic!”

They all stare at him sardonically. He waves them off.

“Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”

Tendo shrugs. “What about Chuck?”

Chuck Hansen. Commitment-phobic, megalomaniacal, debauched Chuck Hansen, who has slept with basically every secretary he’s had, male and female, and is absolutely not what Newt should particularly want at the current point in his life. Still, Newt’s never been one to follow his best interests.

The rest of the evening is filled with more drink, and it does cross Newt’s mind that he really isn’t sticking to that New Year’s resolution. Still, it’s the first week, so he feels he should be cut some slack for the adjustment period. They share a cab back, as while Mako doesn’t drink she can neither drive nor carry them back home, and Newt stumbles out of the cab with all the grace of a horse on a frozen lake.

By the time he finally fumbles through his various keys to the right one for his apartment, he’s practically asleep on his feet and staggers straight to the couch as the nearest vaguely comfortable horizontal surface and passes out.

*

By the time he makes it into work the next morning, he is nursing another hangover and it is reaching dangerously close to the point where he is likely to get called out for being late. Newt hurriedly walks past Hansen’s office and removes his jacket, hooking it over the back of his chair at his desk.

He pulls up an empty word document and stares at the text cursor as it blinks tauntingly. Minutes pass, and he checks the date even though he knows full well what it is, hoping somehow he’s existing in a void where he doesn’t have deadlines.

The paper is to be celebrating a new lease of life soon, with increased funding and a complete redesign to be heralded in next week with a particularly pretentious dinner, and the fact Newt hasn’t a clue what he plans to write for a column, he would describe himself as well and true fucked.

He pulls a black, leather-bound notepad out of his bag – a gift from Mako – and reads over his initial notes on the research ideas he has. He’s beginning to not want to write columns anymore and return to research, although he is apprehensive about returning to MIT seeing as he’s likely to run into Hermann there. The drunk version of him that opened the same book the night before has drawn an anger-fuelled diagram of Hermann with notes expressing his dislike.

Newt’s thoughts are broken when his email pings. He swaps browsers immediately and slams the book shut. _Chuck Hansen_ , the sender reads, _Re: Time_. Newt internally winces as he opens it, fully expecting a scolding for his tardiness.

_Are those jeans spray-painted on? Should be stated in your contract that material clothing is required at all times._

Newt startles. Evidently flirtatious, he notes, and not at all expected. Perhaps the prayers his relatives had said they were doing for him over the holidays had begun to pay off. He looks around, checking no one is reading over his shoulder. The Kaidanovskys are chronically intrusive, after all. He looks to where Chuck sits in his office through its window. He isn’t looking at him.

He clicks reply.

_Physical jeans are totally present, if management only examined more closely. Perhaps HR would like to hear about bluntly sizeist attitude towards jeans._

And if Chuck smiles at his response, maybe Newt considers that a victory.

*

The email chain continues over the next few days, and Newt hasn’t thought of Hermann the whole time. Much. He finds himself rather glad that he has a desk with its back facing a wall where no one can really sneak up on him, and that he doesn’t think anyone would particularly care about either him or the magazine enough in general to read his emails.

Despite their emails being particularly suggestive, Newt doesn’t actually speak to Chuck in person the whole time. Chuck’s tied up with preparation for the relaunch, and Stacker Pentecost – CEO, no-nonsense and all-round very, very cool – has been in and out of his office all week, probably to make sure Chuck isn’t screwing up.

He finds himself alone – almost – with Chuck in the elevator on his way home about a week after the first email was sent. It’s him, Chuck and _Stacker Pentecost_. There’s something tense in the air, and he knows both he and Chuck can sense it, but Pentecost cannot, or if he can, then he’s not doing anything about it.

Pentecost gets off at the next floor, and is quickly replacing by Nate from publishing. Newt _does_ know him, as they sang _4 Non Blondes_ on karaoke together at a Christmas party two years ago.

“Evening, Mr. Hansen,” he greets as he enters, offering a small nod to Newt as well.

Chuck silently and calmly places his hand on Newt’s behind, and Newt feels his eyes widen in surprise. He tries not to too visibly react.

When the lift lands on the ground floor, Nate heads out first before he is followed moments later by both Newt and Chuck.

“Alright, Geiszler,” Chuck says as they exit into the lobby. “You busy later?”

“What?” Newt almost-splutters eloquently. “Oh. Yes, I am,” he lies once he remembers himself.

Chuck frowns. “What about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow? That’s the relaunch event.”

“Shit,” he curses. “Whose stupid idea was that?”

“I believe that was your father, dude.”

“Oh yeah,” Chuck says. “What about the day after?”

Newt knows full well that he is free the day after, as is he free the rest of the month up until about the 27th, but he remembers something Tendo told him about Allison playing hard to get, and how that drove him wild. And if he is going to _relieve some tension_ with one Chuck Hansen, perhaps he should follow in her footsteps. She’s a very smart woman, after all.

“We’ll see,” he blurts once he settles on that conclusion. “Goodbye, Chuck.” He proceeds to speed up his pace to get away from Chuck, a grin on his face once he’s out of sight, rather proud of his self-restraint.

*

Hypothesis: Chuck Hansen will sleep with Newton Geiszler, given the correct stimulus.

Getting someone to sleep with you is science, more or less. Newt is a biologist, he should know. Of course, it would be easier if he was say, a rabbit or something, but he can roll with it. He just needs to control the variables.

The obvious place to start is to look good, so he begins by taking a shower, which is more than he often does. He’s got that sort of grungy chic about him, he believes, but Chuck doesn’t seem like the guy to go for that. So he washes his hair, and conditions with some crap that his mother gave him which smells of _‘lily of the valley’_ – whatever that is – and exfoliates for the first time in his life.

Newt puts on a suit that he’s worn maybe twice in his life, black with a Jacquard print that fits him particularly well, especially considering he’s probably put on a fair bit of weight since he last wore it, and a tie that’s a little less skinny than his usual. Placing his nicest pair of glasses (or rather, the pair that doesn’t have a crack in the lens and several stains on the frame) on his face, he looks in the mirror and decides he looks decidedly good before leaving his apartment.

The second step – and the slightly more difficult one – is that he needs to be brilliant with everyone except, of course, Chuck.

Newt has this rather annoying habit of saying whatever is on his mind as it comes to him. No level of intelligence can remedy that, even though he is (probably) the intellectual superior to everyone else in the room. Still, he’s a flirt anyway, so perhaps he can use that to his advantage.

The third is intrinsically linked to the second, and it is to radiate intelligence as he mingles. It isn’t too difficult for him to do so, but there is a thin line between smart and know-it-all, the former being wonderful in conversation and the latter being particularly terrible.

When Newt arrives at the event itself, he is vibrating with all his manic energy and as soon as he’s inside he downs a glass of champagne to calm his nerves.

He quickly encounters the _wrong_ Hansen. Herc watches him with a certain wary distaste and Newt fumbles with his words like he fumbles with his keys after a night out.

“Mr. Hansen!” he says, a little too loudly. _Come on, Newt_ , he tells himself as he quickly scans over Herc. “How’s the uh, wife?”

“Still dead,” he says, and takes a sip from his own glass.

Okay, bad start. Newt blanches. “Oh, god. Sorry,” he says before he takes the opportunity of a passing drinks tray and turns away.

He immediately comes face to face with Hermann Gottlieb, who obviously just overheard his blunder and whose expression is balanced neatly on a tightrope between smug and uncomfortable. Despite that, he looks good. More than good, really, if Newt is being honest, although even without the reindeer sweater he’s still very stalely dressed.

“Hermann!” Newt practically exclaims in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” he mutters. “I’m here with a friend.”

Newt catches sight of Chuck across the crowd, and it looks like Hermann has too, because they make eye contact, to which Chuck quickly drops his gaze. Newt frowns in confusion.

“Friend?” Newt asks in jest once he realises himself, but he stumbles to correct himself once he sees something in Hermann’s face twitch below his snobbish mask. “I didn’t- I don’t mean-”

“It’s quite alright Dr. Geiszler,” Hermann says, “I know you struggle to think about anything before it comes out of that mouth of yours.”

God, this dude’s an ass, he thinks. His hackles are raised and he’s ready to argue, because Hermann doesn’t even _know_ him, not really, not anymore, so his casting these judgements seems frankly unfair, but he’s interrupted by a woman filling the space next to Hermann. She places a hand on his arm gently, and the fact that he doesn’t flinch or freeze up tells Newt that _this_ is the friend.

It is a little surprising, seeing as she has got to be _too_ gorgeous to be Hermann’s friend.

“Are you going to introduce me?” she asks, the same accent as Hermann, yet slightly softer spoken.

“Yes. Dr. Geiszler, this is Vanessa. She’s an ex-model currently working on a linguistics degree at MIT,” Hermann says, “Vanessa, this is Newton Geiszler. He writes for this paper and used to send my father fanmail.”

Leave it to Hermann to get the details right – that Newt had initially written Lars rather than Hermann. Newt feels spectacularly put-down by his comment though, and is about to comment because it isn’t fair, he thinks, but Vanessa shakes his hand and glares at Hermann in a long-suffering sort of way.

“Pleasure, Dr. Geiszler,” she greets kindly. “Please excuse Hermann. He’s not good with people.”

Newt laughs, and Hermann and Vanessa begin to bicker – lightly, like people who’ve known each other for years and get on very well – and Newt feels a little flicker of something like jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He frowns, and tries to drown it by downing the rest of his glass.

A microphone wails before anything else can be said, and Pentecost begins his speech. As he does, Newt catches Chuck’s eye, and immediately gives up the whole playing hard to get act in an attempt to get away from Hermann. As soon as he reaches his side, a hand is placed on his lower back.

“Want to get out of here?” Chuck asks quietly.

He doesn’t even get a chance to answer before Chuck holds up his hand.

“Like it or not, Geiszler, I’m going to have to buy you dinner now,” he says.

So Newt lets himself be lead inconspicuously out of the back of the crowd, trying not to notice how Hermann stares after him with an unreadable expression on his face.

*

While Chuck does not particularly exude any degree of high-class or good taste, and neither does Newt particularly, he is stinking rich, so Newt finds himself in possibly the most expensive restaurant in Boston that still serves burgers. It’s quiet, just the hum of conversation and a live string quartet, worlds away from the dingy place he usually frequents.

They’re don’t really talk about anything in particular, but Newt is still hyperaware that he dominates the conversation. Usually he’d be more uncomfortable than he is but that’s wine for you, and Chuck is looking at his with a look like he isn’t really paying attention to anything but Newt’s face as he gesticulates about marine biology of all things.

Most of the evening goes much the same way, and Chuck clearly has something on his mind, but he doesn’t ask it until they’re heading out of the restaurant and Newt is positively sated by possibly the best burger he has eaten.

“So how do you know Gottlieb?” Chuck asks once Newt pauses long enough for him to get a word in as they step into the street.

“I don’t. Really,” he says. “I used to write him when we were younger, that’s all.”

Chuck seems satisfied with that answer, and nods. Newt realises this is where he can get an answer as to what those edgy looks the pair kept shooting each other across the room.

“What about you?” he assumes.

“Lived in England for a bit. We worked in the same bookshop on the weekends.”

“Bookshop?” Newt questions, before realising that is _maybe_ a bit rude.

But Chuck just laughs. “Yeah, dad thought I needed to get to work straight away. First place I found.” He pauses. “Anyway, we didn’t really get on at first, but I liked him, and eventually he put up with me enough to be friends.”

“What happened?”

“He was less uptight then. Smart, witty,” Chuck explains before he even tells him. “I made the mistake of introducing him to my girlfriend.”

Newt stares, looking up at Chuck as they walk, because even though he doesn’t really know Hermann anymore, and he’s not sure he ever did, he can see where the story is going and he can’t really picture Hermann doing that. Whatever, he thinks though, he could do with another thing to hold as a grudge against him.

“I could never find it in me to forgive him, after that,” he finishes. “Whatever, it’s in the past. Another drink? At my place?”

Of course, Newt knows full well that _another drink_ is code for something entirely different, and he mentally fist-pumps at his success. Significant data, alternate hypothesis accepted, null hypothesis rejected, success.

He pretends to debate the choice. “Well,” he trails off. “I’m not sure.” He takes his glasses off and begins to wipe them where they’ve fogged up.

Chuck, ever the opportunist, takes that moment to place a hand on his jaw, and kisses him. There’s absolutely nothing innocent about it, and Newt finds himself melting into it in the middle of the _very_ public street.

“Taxi?” Chuck asks as he pulls away, and Newt dazedly yet enthusiastically nods.

*

Newt wakes in his flat the next morning stark naked (not unusual) and in his bed (unusual), positively contented but with the right side of his bed empty. He runs a hand over it as he wakes, finding it cold. He gets up sharply then, looking around at his empty room. On his nightstand, atop the many strewn books and papers, sits a post-it note with a scribbled phone number. He grabs his cell phone from where it lies next to it, and immediately hits one on his speed-dial.

 _“Christ, brother, don’t you know it’s socially unacceptable to call at this time in the morning?”_ a very bitter Tendo answers.

He glances to his watch, which he apparently didn’t take off with his clothes the night before. 7:13AM. Possibly earlier than he’s been up this side of the turn of the decade. “Sorry,” he apologises quickly. “I slept with Chuck.”

 _“Oh, score,”_ Tendo says. _“Good?”_

“Absolutely.”

_“Sorry, why are you calling? You know I don’t want to hear about your sexploits.”_

“That’s a lie,” Newt replies. “Is Allison there?”

_“She’s my wife and it’s seven in the morning. Of course she’s here.”_

He sighs theatrically. “Is that why you won’t gossip with me?”

 _“Maybe,”_ Tendo replies after a pause.

“Bye, Tendo,” Newt says.

He can hear a toaster pop in the background. _“Sorry, Newt.”_ It’s open-ended though, like he expects Newt to continue the conversation one-sided.

He finds himself smiling into his phone. “Either hand the phone over to Allison so I can gossip with her or hang up.”

Tendo hangs up.

Newt presses two on his speed-dial, and Raleigh’s phone goes straight to voicemail. It’s before ten in the morning, he doesn’t know what he expected.

He presses three on his speed-dial, and Mako answers very quickly.

 _“Good morning, Newt,”_ Mako answers cheerily.

“I slept with Chuck,” he says immediately.

 _“Is that good news?”_ she asks, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah,” he says, picking up the post-it with his other hand. “He left his number. Does that mean anything?”

 _“I think it means you should call him,”_ she says.

“Yeah,” he replies absently before affirming, “Yeah! You’re right. I’m obviously a sex god and Chuck wants more. Who am I to pass up on that offer?”

 _“Goodbye, Newt,”_ she replies, and he can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Bye, Mako.”

He leaves his bed triumphant.


	2. Chapter 2

The sex is…well, the sex is fucking fantastic, Newt thinks as he lies awake in a very much not empty bed. But in the few weeks that this has become a regular thing, Newt has gotten the impression that he’s being wooed. Chuck buys him flowers, and takes him out for nice meals, and is spectacularly considerate in bed, which in Newt’s experience is spectacularly unusual for his type. And unfortunately, seeing as Newt will go for anyone who will take him, he’s beginning to have feelings that are distinctly unrelated to the sex. Mostly.

His notebook is increasingly less and less used for potential future job prospects, and is filling up with his emotion-fuelled doodles.

“How do you feel about Cape Cod?” Chuck asks, much less asleep than Newt realised.

“In general?” he questions. “I don’t have any particularly strong feelings about it.”

Chuck rolls over so that he faces Newt. “No, I mean, how would you feel about coming to Cape Cod with me?”

“Like a mini-break?”

“Not _like_ a mini-break, a mini-break.”

“When?” Newt asks.

“This weekend,” he replies.

“I can’t. My parents are having that fancy dress party on Sunday,” he says. “You promised you’d come with me and defend me.”

“We can be back in time,” Chuck says. “Come on, Newt.”

Newt finds himself grinning. “I think I can be persuaded.”

While it certainly isn’t, Chuck takes that as a challenge and Newt finds himself underneath him, with Chuck’s mouth on his and his thighs around Chuck’s waist. He rolls them over so he’s on top, and very inconveniently, his phone rings. He doesn’t stop straddling Chuck as he reaches for his phone.

“Newton Geiszler,” he answers, “wanton sex god with a very bad man between his thighs,” Newt watches Chuck grin, before his face drops at the voice on the other end. “Mom. Hi.”

*

The hotel Chuck books them into is probably far too extravagant for Newt’s taste, and definitely far too extravagant for Chuck’s, but Newt appreciates the continued effort from Chuck to show off his money and power.

“Hansen,” Chuck says as he reaches the reception desk.

The receptionist is just finding their key when Newt turns around, and catches sight of none other than Hermann and Vanessa. He doesn’t even get a chance to avert his eyes before Hermann sees him as well, and the two are locked into a staring contest. Hermann doesn’t change his path though, which happens to be right past Newt and Chuck.

“Oh, shit,” Newt says subconsciously, only loud enough for Chuck – and probably the receptionist – to hear.

Chuck turns too, and Newt watches Hermann bristle.

“You here for the weekend too, Gottlieb?” Chuck asks. “Didn’t take you for a beach guy.”

“Yes, well. There are some very nice,” Hermann pauses, as if he’s trying to work out something he’s interested in, “lighthouses.”

“What an exciting life you lead,” Chuck snarks. He spares a look at Vanessa, almost sympathetic.

Newt just looks on, until he feels Chuck’s hand brush against the crook of his arm.

“Let’s head up to the room,” he says.

They do. The bed is enormous, and Newt crashes out on it as soon as he enters, taking ease in the comfort it offered, especially seeing as he’d be spending a lot of time in it over the coming couple of days. He’s sure he won’t even have a passing thought about Hermann.

*

The hotel really is very nice. The food is exceptional, and it has a lake and a good library, so Newt is positively satisfied. The time they’re not outside in the warmth of the sun, they’re in their room. Newt’s sure he’s done more physical activity in this one weekend than in perhaps several years combined.

It’s late at night, and the window’s open, a spring breeze drifting through the window into the quiet of their room.

“That thing you just did there,” Newt says, “is illegal in multiple countries.”

“One of the many reasons I’m proud to be an American,” Chuck replies.

“You’re not an American.”

“Oh yeah.”

They lie there in quiet for a while, listening to the distant hum of traffic and water running outside.

“Do you have feelings for me?” Newt asks, breaking the silence, not looking at Chuck.

“Shut up or I’ll do it again,” he replies.

Newt grins into the dark of the room. “Do you have feelings for me?”

“You asked for it.”

*

The next morning, Newt wakes up very slowly to the warmly lit room. He stretches out and reaches his arm across to touch Chuck, only to find the other side of the bed vacant. He sits up with a start, and sees Chuck, already dressed and sat on a chair at the end of the bed, waiting for him to wake.

“I have to go back into work,” he says.

“What?” Newt replies, voice a little hoarse. “Why?”

“Something’s come up,” he replies vaguely. “I need to go over some figures.”

Newt doesn’t reply, merely looks at Chuck. He does seem genuinely apologetic. “You promised.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Newt sighs. “Look, Chuck, if you’ve changed your mind about this whole thing, just tell me,” he declares. “Because I don’t see what could be so important.”

That seems to rile Chuck up, because he stands and puts his hands on his hips. “’Course you don’t!” he replies loudly. “You don’t understand how much bloody trouble the paper is in. We’re losing money, Newt. Stacker’s bringing in the New York team, see if they can salvage a workable business plan. We could be shut down tomorrow.”

Newt does a great impression of a goldfish, feeling speechless. “Sorry,” he manages.

Chuck sighs and frowns before sitting next to him on the bed. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

He puts his arm around Newt.

“Look, I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up and take you back to your apartment,” he says.  

*

Newt knows the whole afternoon is going to be terrible when he shows up in a Ghostbusters costume to an event that is very obviously not fancy dress. Some bad cover of a 50s song plays over the speakers and into the garden, and Newt takes in the atrociously normally dressed guests. His dad waves at him from the grill he is tending. Newt saunters over, trying not to be self-conscious.

“Did your mother not tell you it wasn’t fancy dress?” he asks.

“Take a wild guess,” he snaps, before feeling bad. “Sorry dad, it’s not your fault.”

Jacob shrugs and turns the burgers and hot dogs methodically. “So, where’s this man of yours?”

“He had to work,” Newt replies. “Do you need a hand?”

Jacob gestures vaguely. “No, go mingle.”

Newt hates mingling, particularly at family events. He finds people wonderfully interesting, but that generally doesn’t extend to the predominantly over-60s, predominantly middle class crowds his parents tend to attract. As he walks to try to find his mother, he catches sight of Hermann and Vanessa, Vanessa conversing delightfully with his uncle’s old business partner, and Hermann standing rather stiltedly to the side.

“Oh, god,” he mutters, trying to pass by them without being noticed.

“Honey!” his mom accosts him suddenly, still uncomfortably close to Hermann. “What are you wearing?”

“I’m trying a new look, mom,” he says sarcastically.

She takes it as truth and scrunches her face up. “I don’t like it,” she tells him truthfully. She leads him over to a table where various snacks sit. It seems to dawn on her what happened. “Oh, you’re joking. I must’ve forgotten to tell you.”

He nods vaguely, more preoccupied with the fact that Hermann was _literally five metres away_.

“Don’t worry, Newton,” she says, before attracting the attention of a woman on the other side of the table, dressed in a particularly vibrant blouse, a bit to risqué for her age. “This is Miriam. I didn’t get in touch with her either.”

“Yes, you did,” Miriam says with a frown.

“Oh, right,” Monica says. “Nice shirt. Very exotic.”

Miriam turns away and Newt cringes.

“What a shame you couldn’t bring your boyfriend,” she says. “What was his name again?”

“Chuck Hansen,” Hermann turns around. Five metres quickly becomes two.

“Oh, friend of yours, Hermann?”

Hermann makes a face. “Absolutely not.”

Monica is unperturbed. “Well, I do hope he’s good enough for my boy,” she says, and places a hand on Newt’s shoulder.

“I think I can say, with total confidence, absolutely not,” he replies.

Newt snaps. “I’m sure he’d say the same about you, Dr. Gottlieb.”

He watches a flash of hurt grace Hermann’s face before it quickly settles on incredulous. “I beg your pardon?”

“I think you know what I mean,” he replies.

Hermann looks set to reply again, to question him, but Vanessa appears very suddenly behind him.

“Can I speak to you for a moment, Hermann?” she says, pulling him away and shooting Newt and Monica an apologetic glance.

Newt doesn’t see Hermann for the rest of the event, choosing rather to sit down at the bottom of the garden where his Ghostbusters costume is away from view. He returns to eat some of his dad’s hotdogs, before he leaves quietly and without causing a fuss.

*

Chuck takes a while to answer his door, and when he does, his apartment is cleaner than it has been all the other times he’s been in it, but one of his tables is covered in paperwork and spreadsheets and whatever other bullshit comes with being the editor of a potentially failing publication. Newt didn’t think Chuck Hansen had done a hard day’s work in his life, but maybe he was wrong there.

He feels bone-tired and put-out, like he usually does once spending an extended period of time with his family. “Sorry,” he says as he walks in the door. “I just wanted to see a friendly face.”

“It’s cool,” Chuck replies. “But I’m really busy right now.”

Newt’s heart sinks.

“Why don’t you go home, have a nap or something and I’ll call round later with Chinese food from that place you like on fifth,” he says, crossing his arms.

It’s a nice idea, Newt thinks, and he finds the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He suddenly feels a lot better – still tired and washed-up, but a little warmer in his heart.

The spell is quickly broken by a sound in the bedroom, as if someone were moving around.

Newt frowns, looking at Chuck for any sign of unease or surprise. He finds none. “Is someone here?”

“It’s probably just Max,” he replies, but Newt is already heading into the bedroom.

It is empty, bed made like it hadn’t been touched since Chuck got up that morning.

“Sorry,” Newt apologises, feeling stupid for worrying.

“It’s okay,” Chuck says, and leads Newt back towards his door. “I’ll see you later, Newt.”

Newt nods, and begins to leave. He feels a little like he’s being hurried out of the door, but if Chuck is busy, he’s not going to be clingy. He’s fretting over nothing, as he often does, and the best thing for him to do now is take a time-out and look forward to the evening. There’s nothing to worry about, he thinks, except-

Except there’s a small pink coat hooked on Chuck’s coat stand. Newt looks at Chuck sharply, and heads back to the bedroom.

“Newt?” he questions.

Newt storms through the bedroom and into its adjoining bathroom before he feels himself crash back down to earth.

There, perched on the bathtub, was a very petite, very naked woman. She was gorgeous, and somehow covering herself with a newspaper. She doesn’t flinch when he opens the door, and merely stares at him levelly.

“Newt, this is Megan,” Chuck says, lost on excuses. “She’s from the Los Angeles distributors. Megan, this is Newt.”

“Hi there,” Megan charms with a big unauthentic smile.

He stares for a few moments, his brain going at a million miles a minute, before he snaps out of it and storms out of Chuck’s apartment.

When he slams into his apartment, the first thing he does is pull open his laptop and write an email to MIT’s biological sciences department and attach his résumé.

*

Of course, they’re happy to take him. Despite his inactivity in the research community for several years, his name precedes him and he’s offered a post almost immediately. They want him to lecture some, while he works on his research, but it’ll do, particularly as he wants out of his current job as soon as possible.

He goes to work the next day with only his notebook – full of his research ideas and references along with some fresh anti-Chuck sketches in the margins – and a fire lit under his ass. He doesn’t even sit down at his desk when he gets in, storming into Chuck’s office without a care.

He’s not doing anything – well, he is, but Newt doesn’t count his fiddling with a Newton’s cradle as anything – and looks up sharply when Newt barges in.

“Newt,” he says. “I wanted to speak to you. Apologise.”

“Save it, Chuck,” Newt says, sounding a lot stronger than he feels.

Chuck stands, moving around to sit on the front of his desk so he’s eye level with Newt. “I just- I guess it all got too much. What, with the feelings, and meeting your parents, it was all moving quickly, and I guess, you know,” he trails off.

“No, I don’t know,” he replies.

“I panicked,” he stares at him and Newt feels like he’s trying to take him apart, force him to give in. “Get dinner with me tonight.”

“I think I’ll have to pass on that one, Chuck,” Newt says, “because I didn’t come in here to listen to your bullshit apologies and excuses.”

Chuck opens his mouth to speak, but Newt holds up a finger and glares.

“I actually came in here to hand in my notice,” he hands him an envelope.

Chuck stands off his desk. “Come on, Newt. I know a fucked up, but there’s no reason to leave.”

“Actually, there is,” he replies. “I’ve been offered a job at MIT.”

“MIT?” Chuck asks scornfully. “Doing what?”

“Research. Lecturing,” Newt says. “What I used to do. And they want me to start right away,” he looks at his watch, “and I’m going in about three minutes.”

He puts his hands on his hips. “Hang on, Geiszler. You’re contract states you have to give six weeks’ notice.”

Newt is already halfway out of the door. “Yeah, well, I figured with the company in so much trouble, you wouldn’t really miss the guy who writes you at best a column a month, and even then it’s not even that good.”

He turns to leave, and sees half the office listening intently.

“Newt,” Chuck calls, following him out.

“What?” he asks, turning around and stopping, not caring about their growing audience.

Chuck looks less sure about that fact. “Look, I want you to know that there are plenty of opportunities here for such a talented person,” he says, “who maybe has been overlooked professionally.”

“Wow, thanks, Chuck,” Newt replies. “But if working here means regularly being within a ten metre radius of you, then I’d rather get a job as the spokesperson for Viagra.”

He storms out, rather proud of himself.

*

As Newt does with most good things that come his way, he fucks up. He fucks up on this specific occasion because he’s hung over and has no desire to look at bright screens when he hasn’t had enough coffee. He’s still had a lot of coffee, but it’s not enough.

He’s supposed to be giving a lecture on assortative mating in aquatic mammals, which he does, except he does it in front of the entirely wrong PowerPoint and doesn’t even notice. Apparently, Tendo (he assumes, seeing as he’s the only one who’s had access to Newt’s flash drive while he was drunk) had switched out the file for some completely irrelevant, completely inappropriate presentation that he thought was hilarious when he had been over the night before.

Instead of the genetic assortment complexities he had prepared, it was full of a series of consecutive images depicting Newt and Tendo's rambunctious night out. Photo after photo of Newt getting absolutely smashed, which is really how you want to start a new job. 

His students found it so funny that they neglected to tell him for the entirety of the lecture what was projected up behind him.

Newt would probably find it kind of funny too, except a couple of the administrators sit in on his first lecture to assess their hiring, as do a number of others from his research department. It’s not explicitly stated, but he knows he’s in trouble and spends the entire rest of the day worrying about his funding and the future of his very new career.

*

Before he’s even in the house, Newt regrets agreeing to Sasha Kaidonovsky’s invite to catch up at her and Aleksis’ anniversary party following his leaving by attending what he knows to be a dinner party specifically full of couples.

When he’s actually sat at the table – at the head, no less, with several disgustingly heterosexual pairings down each side – he regrets it even more. The regret is truly amplified when he happens to see none other than Hermann there, sitting next to Vanessa.

“So, Newt,” Aleksis asks. “You still seeing the boss?”

“Er, no, actually,” Newt says, and he feels Hermann turn to look at him.

“You really should try to get shacked up soon, though, Newt,” Sasha says, practically hanging off Aleksis’ arm.

“Yes,” he agrees, if for no other reason than to stop the conversation. “Tell me, is it one in four marriages that end in divorce, or one in three?”

“One in three,” Hermann says suddenly in an odd moment of solidarity.

Newt looks between him and Vanessa, slightly unsure what to make of them. The table falls into silence, terse and uncomfortable, while they begin to eat.

“Why do you think there are so many unmarried people in their 30s, Newt?” one of the people Newt doesn’t recognise asks. He’s kind of greasy.

“Um,” he articulates. “I don’t know. I guess it doesn’t help that underneath our skin suits we’re all lizards.” 

People laugh, but it’s mostly out of sympathy.

“Yes, well, I think it makes sense to wait,” Hermann says like he’s trying to fill a gap in the conversation.

Vanessa looks to him. “Quite right. It’s terrible to just rush into things. It seems to me a good marriage is well-planned and negotiated.”

Newt would frown at how business-like she makes the whole thing, but he’s trying to be polite. Anyway, Hermann’s already talking.

“Yes- no- you’re right,” he says, “but I suppose what I mean is that we tend to equate our relationship status to our value when we hit a certain age. There are so many pressures from each other and our families and our customs, but perhaps if we were to wait,” he continues, “there might not be so many couples split in ruin.”

The conversation falls into a halt, and one of the other guests hastily taps the side of her glass with her spoon. “To Sasha and Aleksis!”

It remains fairly uncomfortable after that, and Newt heads out as soon as possible. He grabs his coat after calling for a cab in the toilet.

“I enjoyed your lecture,” Hermann says from the doorway.

“Thanks,” Newt replies, not really meaning it, as he shoves his coat on heatedly.

Hermann’s hovering, like he’s feeling awkward but wants to say something. “So you and Chuck Hansen?”

“Over. Finito. Erledigt. Whatever,” he replies.

“Good,” Hermann replies.

Newt turns, a little angry. “Look, do you have something to say?” he asks confrontationally. “Because if you do, you might as well just say it, Hermann. You’re not going to make me feel any worse. I can do that by myself just fine without you.” The doorbell goes. “That’ll be my taxi.”

He turns without saying goodbye.

“Wait,” Hermann says, the word loud in the empty hallway. Newt does. “I’m sorry.”

Newt turns around, and Hermann looks simultaneously self-conscious and apologetic.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad,” he starts. “I mean, you are to an extent _ridiculous_ , and you don’t think before you speak and you’re loud-”

“Is this supposed to be an apology?” Newt interrupts.

Hermann lets out a deep breath. “I realise that at New Year’s, at your parents’ house, I was terribly rude and must have made a dreadful first impression,” he says, a little open-ended. “What I’m trying to say, a little inarticulately albeit,” he pauses again, “is that I like you.”

Newt laughs a little, lacking in humour. “Yeah, apart from the ridiculousness and loudness and chaos-”

“No,” he interjects. “I like you very much. Just as you are.”

Newt just stares, and for one of the first times in his life, is rendered speechless.

Hermann suddenly comes over particularly repressed. “Right. I must go, I’ve got to- yes, bye,” he says, and takes a step back, heading back into the room he came from.

Newt continues to stand in the doorway, stupefied, until the bell rings again.

*

“Just as you are?” Tendo asks as they sit at their usual table.

Newt nods, staring at his beer bottle.

“Not with fewer tattoos or less manic energy or better social skills?” Raleigh asks.

“Just as I am,” Newt repeats.

Tendo frowns. “But this is someone you hate, right?”

“Right. Yeah,” he affirms, but now he’s not quite sure.

*

Newt is, as he often is, spectacularly late. This is a particular inconvenience today, because he really needs to find one Dr. Caitlin Lightcap before she heads to Japan to take up a new lecturing post at the University of Tokyo. And he really needs to find her today for another reason, which is that she is the only person who can clarify her own neuroscience research before Newt gives his final research proposal that afternoon, which could be greatly strengthened by it.

Still, he finds himself in a convenience store after an energy drink and some chips while he waits for a bus. He blunders with his change and turns to apologise to the person he can feel standing behind him in the queue.

“Sorry, I-” he starts before he makes some embarrassing little noise in the back of his throat.

There stands Hermann, _Cosmopolitan_ in hand, along with a small candy bar. Newt’s thoughts echo his initial impressions – that he is rather attractive, especially without the reindeer sweater.

“Good morning,” Hermann greets.

“Hi,” he says, staring up. He hadn’t really realised that Hermann was that much taller than he was, Hermann having a tendency to lean on his cane and Newt himself prone to bouncing up and down where he stands. “You like me just the way I am,” he says in his daze.

Herman frowns. “What?”

“I mean- nothing,” he stammers, slamming a final handful of coins onto the counter in front of the long-suffering shopkeeper. He pointedly looks at the copy of Cosmo in Hermann’s hand. “Fan, are you?”

Hermann turns a wonderful shade of pink, and begins to mumble an explanation when Newt’s phone goes off. It’s his usual 11 o’clock alarm, which means only one thing. He’s missed Dr. Lightcap.

“Shit,” he iterates as he turns it off. “Shit.”

“What is it?” Hermann asks, and Newt thinks the slight concern he hears is probably wishful thinking on his own part.

“I have fucked up, colossally,” Newt tells him. “God, I’m going to lose my funding if I screw my proposal up.”

The server gives Newt his change, and Hermann buys the magazine and candy bar while he continues to talk. “I assume there’s a reason why you’ll ‘fuck it up’,” he quotes, and it’s posed like a question.

“Yeah, dude,” Newt says, feeling lost as what to do. “I needed to talk to Dr. Lightcap to clear up some things for me about her latest paper to help me with my research proposal.”

They exit the shop together, and Hermann loiters next to him like he wants to hear what Newt has to say.

“Man, don’t suppose you know where she is?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

*

They share a cab to a small independent coffee shop Newt didn’t even know existed, about a five-minute walk from the biological sciences building of the university. It’s quiet and ever so slightly trendy, with its wooden furnishings, exposed-brick walls and easy atmosphere, playing music Newt can identify as 80s and 90s European alternative, and he finds himself wondering if Hermann is actually _cool_. The thought hadn’t really crossed his mind before, but as much as he’s sure Hermann would loathe the term, he’s got an air of hipster about him and his ugly sweater ways.

Dr. Lightcap sits at one of the tables at the back of the room, two cups of tea in front of her. She makes eye contact with Hermann and smiles, pushing forward one of them. She glances at Newt, and while there’s no malice or negativity in her look, Newt feels slightly awkward.

“Caitlin,” Hermann greets and hands over the magazine, “this is Dr. Geiszler. I hope you don’t mind me bringing him along, he’s giving his research proposal this afternoon and wants to talk to you about your last paper.”

She smiles warmly at that. “No problem,” she says, and offers Newt a hand to shake.

Newt takes it before he pulls up a chair from the table next to them.

They talk for a while, Newt running through every question he had so that he fully understands the basis of Lightcap’s research. He’s got most of it, but when it counts, it really helps him to appreciate everything that’s gone into it. It prevents his stumbling through an explanation as his brain processes it, resulting in something somewhat car crash-like. Newt tries not to look at Hermann as he listens intently to what both of them are saying.

After he’s gone through everything he needs to, he goes to get himself a coffee before returning to the table.

“How do you know Hermann?” she asks as he sits.

“I used to write his father fan mail,” Newt replies, aiming for joking but sounding admittedly bitter.

“Dr. Geiszler has six PhDs,” Hermann interrupts before Caitlin can reply. “He used to write to me when he was doing his first at 16.”

Newt looks at Hermann with a look of surprise before he turns back to Dr. Lightcap, who looks suitably impressed and begins asking about his research, previous and current. He tries to ignore the slight smile that plays on Hermann’s lips as he does so.

When he gets home, he crosses out one of the angrily written notes from earlier in the year about Hermann from his notebook.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know what? i was gonna put this up tomorrow but i'm just going to do it now bc im busy then
> 
> watch me steal the most iconic lines from the movie, make them slightly worse, and shove them in newt and hermann's mouths

The next day is Newt’s birthday. He spends most of it on his couch watching crap TV, having got the day off, and answering approximately 18 phone calls from his parents. It’s a good day, in all, seeing as he woke up to an email informing him his funding hadn’t been cut and his research had been given the go-ahead, but he can acknowledge that he’s putting off the cooking he promised to do for his friends.

Newt is a good cook. It’s applied chemistry really, and while he isn’t necessarily always the biggest fan of chemistry when it isn’t biochemistry, he is fairly competent in it. He is not, however, good at cooking for his friends and their inconvenient eating habits. Raleigh’s fine – he’ll eat just about anything if it’s warm and with a texture – but Tendo and Mako are an entirely different ball game, Mako being a vegetarian-verging-on-vegan, and Tendo just being fussy in general. This fact combined with Newt’s incessant urge to show off combines to build a perfect storm.

The perfect storm results in his decision to cook a paella with about five Italian words preceding it, something he barely knows the ingredients of and found in at least three _Most Difficult Dishes to Cook_ lists. He plans a soup to start and a soufflé for dessert.

He’s in the middle of completely fucking up the soup of all things, having given himself too much to do, when the doorbell rings. It’s a full half-an-hour early, which means that it’s probably Mako. He answers the door, and it is decidedly _not_ Mako.

It’s Hermann, in all his corduroy glory, with a bottle of _very_ nice wine in his hands. Newt knows it’s very nice because he saw it in a wine shop last week and immediately scoffed at the price. He watches Hermann take in his bedraggled appearance and stained apron, and suddenly becomes aware that he thinks there’s egg in his hair.

“I wanted to congratulate you on your return to the scientific community,” he says like he’s rehearsed it. He peers into Newt’s apartment, noticing the set table and mess on his counters. “I see I’ve come at a bad time.”

Newt can see him begin to take moves to leave, offering the bottle to Newt and glancing down the corridor. Newt shakes his head and gets out the way of the door. “No, dude! Come in.”

Hermann does, a little apprehensively, and takes in the controlled chaos of the apartment. He places the wine on the table and looks at Newt, like he’s expecting a command.

“It’s my birthday,” Newt tells him. “I’m supposed to be cooking a meal, but unfortunately it’s going very wrong. Like, Pauling’s triple helix wrong.” He shuts the door and heads back into the mess he’s made of his kitchen. “I mean, I want you to know that I’m actually a very good cook and this doesn’t represent me, but I can’t even cook soup right at the moment and-”

“Newton,” Hermann stops him. “Would you like a hand?”

Newt stares. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah, dude, that’d be awesome.”

Hermann removes his jacket and drapes it over a chair, rolling up his sleeves before he heads over to the counter, leaning against it so he frees both his hands to deftly beat the eggs. He somehow drastically improves the soup just by stirring it, and Newt tries not to be impressed. After they’ve sorted out the soufflés and the starter, they crowd around what should be the paella on the stove.

“I don’t think it’s salvageable,” Hermann tells him gravely, giving it a poke.

“Man, me neither,” he replies, and proceeds to lift the pan off the heat and deposit the contents directly into the trash. It slops wetly into the garbage can.

“Do you have more eggs?” Hermann asks, like the hero he is. Newt nods. “Omelette it is then.”

He lays everything out ready with the explanation that they shouldn’t cook the omelettes while they have a chance to go cold. Newt surveys the carnage around him as Hermann backs away from the counters.

“God. They’ll be here soon,” he says.

Hermann finds and fills a couple of wine glasses, which Newt hopes are clean, and places his on the end of the table while he hands Newt the other, before picking his own back up. They clink glasses.

“Happy birthday,” he says quietly.

Newt thinks they’re having a moment. It’s odd, intimate, feels wonderfully familiar for reasons Newt cannot identify, and is almost immediately interrupted by his doorbell.

“Happy birthday!” Mako, Tendo and Raleigh all say in unison when he opens the door, practically falling into his apartment. They’re chattering and noisy, which immediately stops when they catch sight of Hermann from where he stands next to the table.

“Hello,” Mako says. “Are you joining us?”

Hermann shoots Newt a look, searching for an answer.

“Yes, of course,” Newt replies before he pushes through the gaggle of his friends to return to his food.

They finish the omelettes, and they all sit around the table to eat. The soup isn’t too bad, and neither are the omelettes, and Newt sends a little thank you look to Hermann when no complaints arise.

“So, Hermann. Why did your wife leave you?” Raleigh asks.

Newt chokes on his wine, ready to apologise, but Hermann’s already talking.

“I’m gay. She was a woman,” he says. “It was always doomed to fail.”

There’s a pause of uncertain silence, before Newt laughs nervously, unsure if it was a joke. It seems like it was, seeing as Hermann doesn’t shoot him any murderous glares.

“How did she take that?” Tendo inquires.

Hermann shrugs. “Not too well, at first. But we’re quite friendly now,” he says. “You’ve met her, actually,” he tells Newt.

“What?” he says, thinking back before he realises. “Vanessa? Man, you did well.”

The soufflés are, thankfully, damn good and Newt feels his reputation isn’t completely tarnished. Unlike how he thought it could go, the atmosphere is very comfortable even with Hermann’s unexpected presence; more so perhaps.

And, as life usually goes, the momentary bliss is swiftly interrupted by his doorbell again. Tendo offers a frown in question, and Newt shrugs before getting up and answering.

Opening the door reveals Chuck, bottle of champagne in hand.

“Sorry, am I interrupting?” he asks before effectively forcing his way past into Newt’s apartment. “Gottlieb!” he greets unpleasantly. Newt doesn’t reply, and Chuck eyes the both of them before he laughs humourlessly. “Huh. Of course.”

“What are you doing here, Chuck?” Newt asks.

“I thought you might’ve been alone,” he replies, eyeing the unimpressed looks from the table.

Newt sighs, not wanting to do this in front of an audience, and walks out of the room and into the corridor between that room and the bedroom, out of sight and mostly hearing, if they’re quiet.

Chuck stares, expression contrite. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he starts. “I’m sorry, I was a total dick. It was just, everything was going so fast and I panicked.” He seems genuine, but Newt isn’t inclined to gullibility. “You know me. I’m a disaster with a lot of money. I need you.”

“And Megan?”

“Done. Flash in the pan,” he replies. “I wasn’t over you.” He still looks apologetic. “I know you think it’s just a sex thing. But it’s not, honest.”

Newt stares in silence, and Chuck’s getting closer like he’s going to kiss him, and-

Hermann stands at the end of the corridor, over Chuck’s shoulder. “I’m going now,” he says, and his voice sounds a little strangled. “Goodbye, Newton.”

“No, please-” Newt begins to say.

“Don’t leave because of me, Gottlieb,” Chuck says, obnoxiously chummy and looping an arm over Newt’s shoulders. Newt wants nothing more than to shove him off. “Can’t we just put the past behind us?”

“Goodbye, Newton,” Hermann repeats, and leaves from view. Newt hears the door shut.

Newt pulls away from Chuck’s arm, moving back into the kitchen. “Chuck, you can’t just-”

There’s a knock at the door, and Newt answers it with a sigh, not knowing who to expect. It’s Hermann, again.

“Right. Hansen,” he says, a little breathless. “Can I talk to you outside?”

Chuck laughs and crosses his arms across his body. “Should I bring my sword?”

Hermann chooses not to reply, tapping his cane once on the crowd before he turns and leaves. Chuck continues to stand still as everyone stares at him, until he tuts and follows suit. Newt and the others scramble after him.

It’s cold, Newt thinks as soon as they step outside. It’s cold, and it’s quiet.

“I didn’t want to stoop to your level,” Hermann says, “but I wish I’d done this years ago.”

“Done what?” Chuck scoffs.

“This,” Hermann says, before he quickly whips up his cane and clashes it directly into Chuck’s nose.

Chuck makes a noise somewhere between surprise and pain, hand grasped over his now bleeding nose as he rises back up. “I don’t want to fight you, Hermann. We all know who’d win.”

It isn’t really a fair fight, Newt thinks, but Hermann’s proved him wrong before. In fact, he’s been wrong about Hermann more than he’s been wrong about anything else in his life. This is further emphasised when Hermann slams his cane into the side of Chuck’s knee, causing him to stumble.

Newt watches in dismay as Tendo runs into the tacky Italian restaurant Newt’s apartment adjoins and quickly informs the waiters and customers of the fight. The audience swiftly grows.

Chuck puts his hands up. “Okay, okay. Give me a minute,” he says, and Newt can see him stumble to the side and place his hand on the metal lid of a garbage can. “Give me a minute,” he says, quieter, before swinging back around with the lid and knocking Hermann’s cane out from under him. He stumbles backwards and into the wall behind him, regaining his balance.

“Cheat!” Raleigh calls from the side.

Newt wants to step in, but he feels like his feet are stuck to the pavement. Chuck charges, and Hermann sidesteps him and he slams into the wall as Hermann crosses to the other side of the street and stands against the restaurant door.

He doesn’t stay stood against it for long, as Chuck rushes forward again and pushes them both into the restaurant. They slam into a table, knocking over someone’s wine and landing in their pizza, and the table screeches along the floor.

“Sorry,” Hermann apologises to the diners, before rolling off the table and backing around behind it, leaning forcefully on it and breathing heavily.

Chuck looks like he’s about to rush around, but the clamour is interrupted by a procession of waiters holding a birthday cake. The happy birthday song starts up, and the pair stand there awkwardly while trying to sing along as the cake is placed onto the table of the birthday boy in question – a poxy 15-year-old with his family.

There is an applause, and in the distraction, Hermann grabs hold of a metal dining cart and pushes it across the room at Chuck. He smashes right through the window and back onto the street.

Newt breaks out of his stupor, rushing immediately to Chuck’s side as he drifts in and out of consciousness on the sidewalk. Hermann stumbles out after them.

“What the hell is wrong with you, dude?” Newt asks Hermann harshly.

“With me?” Hermann questions angrily.

“Yes, you!” he blurts. “You give this whole act of being good and decent and fucking…English, but you’re just as bad as everyone else you pretend to hate!”

Hermann scoffs. “Forgive me. I clearly made the foolish mistake of thinking it must be my job to defend you.”

“Defend me?” Newt questions venomously. “What the hell from?”

“Forget it,” he just says, and walks away slowly. Newt tries not to feel sympathy for the fact his limp is much more strongly pronounced.

“I love you,” Chuck says from the ground, this victorious look on his face that Newt can’t stand.

Newt’s attention snaps away from Hermann’s retreating figure. “What?”

“I love you,” he says again, getting up into a sitting position. “Let’s go back inside. You and me.”

Newt finds himself staring at that Aussie bastard’s smarmy face. “No.”

“What?”

He gets up, leaving Chuck on the ground in the broken glass. “No, Chuck. I’m not doing this again.”

“But-” he stammers. “I love you.”

“That’s not just some magic fix-all statement,” Newt replies, heading back into the building. “I’m not doing this with you. I’m done.”

*

December rolls back around very quickly and before Newt even has time to notice, it’s already the 26th. He stays with his parents that year, all his friends with their respective families, and he really doesn’t want to spend it alone. It’s pretty much the same sort of deal though, and he spends most of it crashed out on the couch.

His mom smacks his feet where they sit on the arm of the couch with her newspaper. “Come on, get up.”

“What for?” Newt asks, still as close to asleep as he can be without actually being unconscious.

“The Gottliebs’ ruby wedding party,” she says, as if he should know. He probably should, she’s probably told him. “Hermann will be there. Still divorced.”

Newt swings his legs off the couch and rubs his eyes in response to the head-rush he gets sitting up. “I don’t care about Hermann. I’m not going.”

Monica isn’t listening, choosing rather to wander around the room and clean up Newt’s mess. “Poor Hermann,” she muses, “his first partner after his divorce left him on Christmas day. Cruel man.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not sure if he didn't deserve it,” Newt replies.

She continues to not listen, and proceeds with her thoughts. “Ran off with his best friend from England. They came here together, you know.”

Newt mentally connects the dots, and _goddammit_ if it wasn’t so obvious now.

Of course Hermann wouldn’t be the type, he’s too prim and proper for that. Of course it wasn’t Chuck’s girlfriend, but Hermann’s partner. Of course Chuck – rotten, outrageous Chuck – was the guilty party. How could he be so stupid?

“Total crook, apparently. Best man at his wedding, by his side all throughout the divorce. Then he comes back one day, finds them both at it. Terrible,” she continues.

“Excuse me,” Newt chokes, before rushing out of the room and upstairs to get dressed.

He’s back down almost immediately, dressed somewhat nicely but still rugged and chaotic. He ignores his mother’s complaints at his disarray, and throws the car keys at his dad.

*

Jacob drives at what can only be described as a fatherly pace. Newt watches the trees go by his window painfully slowly, and he bounces his leg in anxiety as he sits in the back of the car behind his parents.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, voice hoarse. “Stop!” he repeats, clearing his throat.

Jacob immediately does, no care for anyone behind him – thankfully, no one – and screeches to a halt. “What is it?” he asks, glancing backwards in worry.

Newt is already out of the car and opening the door to the driver’s seat. “Get out.”

“What?”

“You’re too slow,” he explains.

His father immediately gets out of the car, although Newt’s not sure why (and evidently neither is Monica, judging by the look of pure disparagement she offers), and they swap seats. Newt slams his foot into the accelerator, and the car splutteringly pulls away.

*

The elder Gottliebs moved to the US following Lars’ retirement from Cambridge to – as Newt understands from the string of words his mother lets out – follow Hermann to MIT. Newt feels a flare of sympathy at that, seeing as Hermann never did like his father breathing down his neck.

The house is precisely how Newt would imagine the abode of European immigrants with too much money and too much pride. It is almost grand, with architecture emulating an old English manor house but was likely built around 2004. It is situated just outside the suburbs, and has _gates_.

Guests spill out of the large front doors, although Newt isn’t sure why seeing as it must be less than 40 degrees out. He skids the car up onto the side of the drive, and gets out with purposeful speed. He throws the keys at his dad again, and Jacob struggles to catch them.

“Stop that!” he calls after him.

Inside, it is pretty posh. Uniformed caterers cart around salmon-y things on trays, and Newt can see tables of complementary champagne lining the walls. There are a vast number of guests, and he struggles to believe that most of them are not there for networking opportunities with the brilliant but boorish scientist that was Lars Gottlieb.

Newt can remember Hermann’s distaste for his father’s extravagance from their letters, and he certainly looks the part as he stands detached from any particular group in the middle of the room, sticking out like a rare steak in a vegetarian restaurant. He is also standing right by some glasses of champagne, and Newt approaches cautiously under the pretence of getting a drink.

“Thanks for inviting me,” he says as their eyes meet.

“I didn’t,” Hermann returns stiffly. “It must have been my parents.”

There’s a taut pause.

“I better-” Hermann starts, gesturing off to the side like he’s going to leave.

Newt holds up a hand. “Listen,” he says quickly, drawing Hermann’s attention back to him. “I wanted to say sorry. About Chuck,” Hermann frowns minutely. “You see, he told me that you ran off with his girlfriend, which is how you knew each other. Broke his heart, or whatever.”

“Ah,” he replies. “No, other way around, you see. My partner. My heart.”

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I mean, I was an idiot for, you know, shouting at you before.” Newt looks around for somewhere to get away from the crowd. He sees a small corridor at the back of the room. “Look, can we, uh-” he doesn’t finish his sentence before he effectively leads Hermann through the crowd and down it.

It’s effectively a cupboard, and Newt pushes himself back against some coats as Hermann stands in front of him, perplexed.

“There’s something I really need to say,” Newt starts. “Um, you once told me that you liked me as I was. Which is something incredibly rare, and I think I can count the number of people who do on one hand,” he says, “and well, I just wanted to say – same.”

Hermann’s face doesn’t give anything away, and Newt realises that he’s going to have to elaborate.

“I mean, you wear stupid things that make you look about twice your age, and you’re stubborn and stiff and superior, and you’re terrible with people and I really think you should rethink your haircut-” he stops. “But, I like you. Just the way you are. And if you happen to be free, you know where I live and it would be nice to see you. More than nice.”

Hermann continues to give nothing aware and stares at him. “Right,” he says, a little hoarsely. “Okay. Goodness.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but suddenly the clink of a spoon against a glass cuts through the silence, and Hermann pulls away. Newt didn’t even realise they were so close.

“Verdammt,” Hermann murmurs. “Excuse me.”

He heads back into the main room, and Newt follows shortly after, not wanting to look like they’d come out together.

“Dear friends,” Lars begins his obviously rehearsed speech with an inaccurate introduction, “I cannot believe that it has truly been 40 years since I married my dearest Emmeline. A toast to her.”

He raises his glass to the prim and quiet woman at his side as a toast ripples throughout the room. Emmeline has a certain aura of beauty about her, and Newt remembers that Hermann always was more of a mommy’s boy than anything else. He finds himself wondering how that juxtaposing couple ended up.

“And we, in turn, have been blessed with our wonderful children,” Newt could almost roll his eyes at that. Lars never appreciated any of his children if they weren’t wildly successful, and even then it was never enough. “I’d like to take this opportunity to raise a glass to my third, Hermann.”

Newt’s eyes shoot to Hermann, who looks particularly abashed and undesiring of the sudden attention.

“I am thrilled to announce that he has just been offered a leadership position in the physics department at Cambridge University. He leaves in just two days’ time, so this is also a farewell party for him.”

A murmur of congratulations echoes throughout the crowd, and Newt suddenly feels very shaken. Hermann doesn’t look at him.

“So I ask you to join with me in another toast, to Hermann.”

“No!” Newt blurts through the sound of glasses clinking and voices repeating Lars’ words.

It is, of course, an awful spur of the moment idea, as every person in the room turns their attention to Newt and where he stands in the middle of the front row of the crowd.

“It’s just-” he starts, feeling his palms go sweaty. “It’s just it’s such a shame,” he bullshits, “for the United States.”

He can see Hermann’s deeply confused look, along with the twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“For us to lose such a great scientific mind. For us to lose one of our top…people,” he blunders on, “our top person, really.” The room is deadly silent, and Newt looks around with particular focus on his mother’s horrified face and his father’s gratified one. “Anyway,” he says, and his throat feels tight, “I’ve got to go now. Places to be, people to see. Bye.”

He leaves the room with no sense of gratification and a deeply perplexed Gottlieb family.

*

Newt lies on his couch once again, welcoming in the New Year in a much similar way, minus early evening plans with his friends. As he lies on his back and eats some expired popcorn, he watches the clock count down the hours. It’s 6PM, and he’s fixated on a clock for longer than 6 hours before so it doesn’t seem like an unreasonable expectation for him to be counting down to midnight already.

At some point, he picks up his notebook and flicks through all the notes he’s made about his research as if it could somehow motivate him to not just sink away into the couch forever. He runs his fingers over the doodles in the margins, particularly the scribbled insults he wrote about Hermann months ago.

Just as he’s about to empty another handful of popcorn into his mouth, his doorbell rings. He wrangles himself out of where he’s sunken into the couch, and opens the door.

“Hi!” Tendo, Mako and Raleigh greet, and he grimaces and stumbles away from the door to distance himself from their obnoxious cheer.

“Hey,” he says as they rush in.  

“Have we got a great surprise for you, buddy,” Tendo says.

“The White Stripes have reformed?” he asks sarcastically.

“Not that great,” he replies. “We’re taking you to New York for the weekend.”

“Forget about everything, especially a certain bad-tempered scientist,” Raleigh says.

“I can’t believe you said what you did,” Mako chips in as she starts to pack a bag for him.

Newt sighs. “I know. There goes my invite to the next Gottlieb get-together.”

The combined effort gets Newt a bag packed in under five minutes, which for a weekend break is decidedly fast and Newt finds himself wandering around his apartment searching for any and every necessity.

“Passport?” Mako asks. Newt gestures to a draw in his kitchen. “And underwear,” she adds, and he heads to his bedroom and grabs a handful of briefs from his draw, shoving them into the bag.

He is quickly rushed out of the door, barely getting the opportunity to lock as his overactive friends hurry him outside to where a taxi waits. Newt stands back against the wall of his block as they shove everything into the trunk.

He’s just about to join them when he hears the distinctive sound of footsteps and a cane. He turns to look down the street.

“Come on, Newt!” Raleigh calls from the car.

Newt doesn’t move, and Hermann only comes closer, and Newt can see he’s clearly not happy with the snow that’s just beginning to fall.

“Newton,” he says.

“What are you doing here?” Newt asks quickly.

“I wanted to see you.”

“What?”

Hermann just looks, and Newt curses him for being so unreadable. “I thought your speech was excellent. I wondered if you were available for Bar Mitzvahs and birthdays as well as Ruby weddings.”

Newt wants to laugh, but he’s busy staring absently into Hermann’s eyes. “I thought you were in England.”

“Evidently not,” he replies. “I realised I’d forgotten something rather important.”

He doesn’t want to breathe out from fear of screwing something up. “Which is?”

“To say goodbye properly,” Hermann tells him, and Newt is fairly sure he’s about to be kissed.

Newt puts a hand on Hermann’s chest to stop him. “You’re not going, then?”

“No,” he confirms.

“And you’re staying for what- indefinitely?”

“So it would seem.”

Hermann moves to kiss him again, but is rudely interrupted by his friends hollering out the window of the taxi. They turn to look at them, all three crowded up to the same window.

“Friends of yours?” Hermann asks.

“No,” Newt denies.

Hermann turns his attention back to Newt, and-

“Look, are you coming to New York or not?” Tendo yells out the window.

Newt looks back to them. “Not.”

Tendo salutes him then, and tells the driver to leave. They tear off down the road, leaving Newt and Hermann standing particularly close to each other on the sidewalk.

“Come upstairs,” Newt says, and they do.

As they enter the apartment, Hermann doesn’t even let Newt take his coat off before he steps closer to him again. Newt ducks out from under him.

“Excuse me for a minute,” Newt tells him, aware that his breath is probably terrible given his clearing out of his out of date refrigerator contents, and that his jeans are getting to a point of being crusty given how long he’s been wearing them. “Uh, keep yourself entertained. There are some great magazines around, or whatever,” he gestures to the piles of various papers scattered throughout his apartment.

Newt rushes to his bathroom, and quickly swills around mouthwash. Looking up into the mirror, he considers giving himself a pep-talk. He takes a deep breath, and heads into his bedroom, throwing his jacket on a chair and taking off his jeans and looking for a fresh pair.

He hears the heavy slam of the door.

Newt hurries back into the room, and sure enough, it is empty. He goes to the window, and can see Hermann hobbling away down the street as the snow still falls.

“Hermann!” he calls, hoping the he’s loud enough to be heard through the shut window. “Hermann!”

Hermann doesn’t hear – or decides not to – and continues his path.

He turns around in confusion, looking around at what could have possibly happened. He looks at the magazines strewn on the table, under his open notebook-

“Oh, shit,” he says, reading what’s on the page it’s open on.

Sure enough, in the margin beside his planning, are a series of rude and stupid things he wrote about Hermann from when he was seeing Chuck.

“Shit,” he repeats.

He pulls a pair of shoes on, not caring about the rest of his attire – no pants, just his underwear and a t-shirt – and rushes out the door.

“Shit!” he gasps as he steps outside and the cold air rushes around him.

Newt stumbles down the road after Hermann, glimpsing him turn a corner and following him. He absent-mindedly is surprised how fast he’s moving, and he tries to ignore the startled looks every passer-by shoots him.

“Hermann!” he calls as he runs out into the main high street. “Hermann!” He looks wildly around, and even though it’s still fairly quiet in his neighbourhood, he’s attracting a lot of attention, standing there half-naked in the street.

Suddenly, Hermann emerges from a shop, his coat wrapped around him. Newt is jealous of it, and Hermann approaches him, watching him shiver in the snow.

“Hermann- Hermann, I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean it, I was an idiot, and everything I knew was wrong, and I just-” he takes a breath, laughing. “They’re just scribbles. Everyone knows anything written in a margin is crap.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and produces a new leather-bound notebook from inside his coat. “I was just buying you a new one. For your recordings.”

Newt can’t help it then; he reaches an arm up around Hermann’s neck and kisses him. He feels Hermann wrap his coat around him as he pulls closer, and the warmth it brings isn’t solely physical. It lasts a genuine amount of time before they split apart, and Newt rests his head against Hermann’s forehead.

“Wait a minute,” Newt says quietly. “Nice boys don’t kiss like that.”

Hermann cups Newt’s jaw with his hand and draws him back in, murmuring against his mouth. “Yes they fucking do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch bridget jones if you haven't already,, 
> 
> thanks for reading this massive joke sdfgh
> 
> anyway bc this is a Big Joke and probs isn't gonna do as well as a lot of my other stuff (i.e. better stuff), i'm going to orphan this work in a couple of days just so y'all aware


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